


Daylight Breaks

by biblionerd07



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, M/M, Mental Hospital, Miles is not a dick, Revo Redux Challenge, So obviously not canon, Some angst, and some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1421737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Revo Redux.  Bass wakes up to find himself in what he can only assume is hostile territory, being guarded by a not-dead Duncan Page...in teddy bear scrubs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daylight Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to post this on the day of Canon Divergence rather than No Blackout AU because ~~it wasn't ready in time~~ I wanted to spread my submissions out. Miles is not a dick at all in this fic because I wrote it and I wanted Miles to not be a dick. Amazing. To be honest, it's mostly Miles and Bass talking. (It doesn't happen in the show enough so I took matters into my own hands.)

_He’s working methodically, moving through the ranks and cutting down Patriot soldiers, blood splattering on his face, his clothes, his boots. Some of them try to run when they see him coming, but it’s no matter—if they’re too far to slice with his sword, he has a gun and he’s a perfect shot. The blood on his skin is hot, boiling, as he spurts onto him like raindrops, but the feeling is not new and doesn’t even give him pause. Soon he is alone, in a sudden silence that stings now that there is no more whizzing of bullets, screaming, or the ring of a sword being drawn, just silence and the smell of blood and carnage and gunpowder. He sees his friend, his brother, his lover—all his relationships are encompassed in one man—standing a ways off, and the adrenaline and blood lust is mapped out on both of their faces. They go to one another, and their meeting is rough and frenzied and draws blood from their already soaked lips._

_Battle has always awakened their need for one another, even back when it was a schoolyard fight and they didn’t understand why they wanted to cling close to one another at its end. This is no different, and it doesn’t matter that there are other things—other people—they should be focusing on, worried about. Their worlds have narrowed to an empty grove of trees and a bed of pine needles, to ripping the clothes from one another’s body, hasty and fumbling and violent in their pursuit, not stopping—_

“Sebastian?” A semi-familiar voice was calling to him, seemingly from far away. “Sebastian, are you up?”

He opened his eyes and cringed away from the harsh white lights above his bed. How were they being powered? Did this place, wherever he was, have one of the pendants that blocked the nanites? His first instinct was that he’d somehow been knocked out and taken prisoner, most likely by the Patriots, and these harsh lights were part of an interrogation he was being submitted to. He then considered the fact that he didn’t really have any information they’d want—he didn’t really know anything they didn’t—so this was more torture than interrogation.

“Sebastian, you need to open the door and come get your meds.”

He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He wasn’t strapped down to anything. He was in a room, a shockingly normal bedroom, and he was lying on scratchy sheets that reminded him of boot camp. He assessed his body for injuries and couldn’t find any, so he sat up cautiously. He was wearing pale blue scrubs, like a nurse, and the only shoes he could find were missing shoelaces. He ran a hand through his hair and was shocked by how short it was—it wasn’t his old high-and-tight from the Marines, but it was shorter than it had been in years. Whoever had taken him must have cut his hair while he was unconscious, though he couldn’t figure out a motive for that.

He tried to find a weapon but the room was bare. There was a book on the stand by his bed—the title revealed it to be something about the Civil War—but there was nothing else. He picked up the book. If nothing else, he could use it as a shield if someone tried to stab him. He crept to the door and stayed behind it after he opened it.

“Sebastian?” The person sounded confused and walked into the room. “Why are you behind the door?” It was Duncan. She was also wearing scrubs—they had little teddy bears on them, which seemed strange and wholly uncharacteristic—but her shoes had laces, and she had a nametag. She looked like a nurse.

“Duncan?” He breathed. She was dead. What was she doing here? “I thought you were dead!” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Someone killed me, huh? I guess that’s what I get for leading a war clan.” She didn’t sound the least bit surprised or worried, almost bored.

“What…” He huffed, annoyed. “Where are we?”

Duncan sighed. “How about you come down the hall and take your meds first, and then I’ll fill you in?”

“I’m not taking anything!” He protested.

“Great, one of those days.” Duncan muttered. “You must have had some kind of battle last night.”

“How do you know all this?” Bass hissed. “You’re supposed to be dead!” He longed for a sword to hold to her throat to get some explanations.

“Sebastian, please.” She touched his arm and he backed away, but it didn’t seem to bother her. “Just come down the hall with me and take your meds. They won’t hurt you. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Her voice was low and soothing, like he was some kind of spooked animal, and it annoyed him. He could feel the furrow etched between his eyebrows as he considered her. “Alright.” He said slowly. “I’ll go down the hall with you.” He had no intention of taking anything his captors offered him, but he wanted to see where she’d lead him so he could try to figure out what was going on.

Duncan’s shoes squeaked on the tiled floor as they walked. She didn’t try talking to him, and for that he was grateful. He was looking for exits. She led him to a wall that had a little window in it, in front of which a line was forming. The whole thing looked remarkably like a hospital, and he wondered suddenly if they were doing experiments on him. He thought he recognized some of the other prisoners as members of his militia. They must all be prisoners of war. But where was Miles? Where was Connor? Charlie? He wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure he could trust Duncan. He wouldn’t say any of their names in case it led to their capture.

“Here you go, Sebastian.” It was that Patriot Truman in the window in the wall, chirping at him cheerfully and holding out a little paper cup full of pills. He recoiled.

“I’m not taking anything from you.” He hissed. “You’ve tried to kill me too many times.”

“Sebastian, I’d never try to kill you!” Truman laughed at him and he clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might break it.

“Sebastian.” Duncan’s voice was stern behind him. “You have to take your meds.”

“I’m not taking anything.” His voice wasn’t rising, but instead becoming silky and dangerous the way he did when he wanted to intimidate. Duncan pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Sebastian, please don’t make us restrain you.”

“You and what army?” He scoffed. She tipped her head toward a hallway he hadn’t noticed and he saw several large men in scrubs—he recognized a few of them as the mercenaries Duncan had sent with Charlie. He tensed his body to fight, but before he could do much two of the men had rushed forward and held him down. He landed a few blows before they overpowered him, relishing the sound of his fists making contact and the curses it drew from the men, but soon he felt a needle in his arm and his voice grew hoarse and his limbs heavy.

He was still conscious, but everything seemed distant. They had drugged him. He didn’t have much choice but to obediently swallow the pills Duncan gave him, and he followed her dimly into a cafeteria. He ate rubbery eggs and crunchy hash browns and didn’t protest as Duncan told him he had to take a shower and change his clothes.

“Go on into the day room.” Duncan told him when he passed her inspection. “I’m sure Miles will be here soon.” His heart leapt. Miles couldn’t come here. Surely this was a trap.

“Miles won’t come.” He said brazenly, and part of him thought he might actually be right. He could never really be sure these days. Duncan’s lips pressed into a thin line and she eyed him critically.

“Okay, Sebastian.” She sighed tiredly. “Normally I like to let Miles tell you, but I can see today you’re not going to relax.” He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to play into her hands.

“You think there was some kind of blackout all over the whole world—no power, some weird alien things called nanites. None of that happened. Okay? You think it’s been…I’m not sure, I’ve lost track. I think we’re at seventeen years. But there was never a blackout. You’re in a hospital, Sebastian.”

“What’s your endgame here?” He bit out roughly. “What benefit are you getting from this?”

“Sebastian, this is my job. I’m a nurse.” Her face was soft now, maybe a little sad. “You had a…mental break. You’ve been here about two years.”

His mouth was dry and he felt himself trembling a little. He clenched all his muscles to stop it. He couldn’t show weakness. But he was starting to waver. A mental break? It didn’t exactly sound out of the realm of possibilities. He had no illusions about his paranoia.

“Bass!” Miles’s voice was behind him, and he sounded happy. When was the last time that had happened? Bass turned around slowly and gasped. Miles was _young_ —like, Marine-days young. His high-and-tight was growing out but still faintly visible. Miles frowned at the look on Bass’s face. “Bad day, huh?” He asked gently. He beckoned for Bass to come closer, and he caught hold of Bass’s elbow as soon as he could, leading him into the day room.

The found an empty table and claimed it, not speaking, and Bass couldn’t stop looking at Miles’s face, at how smooth his skin was, at how light he seemed. This Miles was…almost innocent, more innocent than Bass could remember since the Blackout.

“Miles?” He started tentatively. “I…what’s going on? How are you…” He trailed off, reaching out to touch Miles’s unlined forehead. “They told me I’m crazy.”

“Who said that?” Miles demanded sharply. “Someone called you crazy?”

“Well, Duncan said I had a mental break and I’m in a hospital, Miles, so that sounds pretty crazy to me.” Bass snapped. Miles relaxed a fraction.

“You’re not crazy.” He said firmly. “You just…need a little help for a little while.”

“It’s true?” Bass whispered. Bass would believe it when Miles confirmed it and not a second sooner. “No Blackout, no Monroe Republic, none of it?”

Miles shrugged a little. “No.” His face twisted into a grimace as Bass reeled back a little. “Bass, look at me.” Miles commanded. Bass looked up, and he could feel tears in his eyes, saw the way Miles’s lips pursed at the sight. Miles reached out across the table and touched Bass’s cheek.

“What’s real?” Bass asked, voice raw.

“Iraq, that was real. Everything you remember about growing up was real. It’s just that blackout thing that wasn’t real.” Miles didn’t hesitate on the word _blackout_ and Bass marveled a little. It was a capital letter to him, and to the Miles he thought he remembered, but this Miles only said the word because he was humoring Bass.

“What about my family?” Bass worked up the nerve to ask. Bass could tell before Miles even said anything that that was, unfortunately, true.

“Yeah, that was real, man.” Miles let his thumb slide over Bass’s cheekbone comfortingly. “I’m sorry that part was real.” Bass clutched at his short hair, feeling like all the air had been sucked from the room.

“I—shit, Miles, I don’t…” Bass couldn’t form a full thought, couldn’t get a full breath. He was gulping for air but it felt like it was being blocked from reaching his lungs. He put his hand over his mouth, trying to stop himself from hyperventilating.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Miles leapt up and came around the table, wrapping a sturdy arm around Bass’s shoulders and letting him rest there. “Take it easy, buddy.” His other hand was rubbing soothing circles around Bass’s chest. Bass let his head fall against Miles’s shoulder and didn’t bother holding back his tears anymore. He’d always been a bit of a crybaby. After he took a few minutes to break down, he pushed up off Miles’s shoulder and swiped at his face, taking a deep breath.

“Okay.” Bass said, voice rough from his tears. “How’d this happen?”

“Well…” Miles looked away for a second and Bass felt his stomach clench with fear. Miles pursed his lips before taking a breath. “It was after the car accident. You—you got cleared for duty again but I don’t think you were really ready. We were back in Iraq and there was this woman and a kid, and we were helping them fix a hole in the wall of their house, all blown away from a firefight a few days before or something, I don’t really know. And then…” Miles’s jaw clenched tight and Bass reached out to smooth the tension there. He marveled a little because he was allowed to touch Miles again. As far as he could remember—or in his delusion, or whatever—it had been years.

“A bomb?” Bass guessed softly.

“Grenade. We didn’t have time to get away, but you wouldn’t take cover with that lady and her kid, and they were screaming and crying and taking too long to get down, so…” Miles sighed. “Knocked you clear through the wall and into the street, dumped you right on your head. Broke your leg somewhere in there, too. And you were—you looked dead, I was…” Miles was breathing a little hard, his eyes far away as he remembered, and a little shudder went through him. He still had an arm around Bass and it was pulling him tight. Bass rubbed Miles’s ear, the way he used to when they were kids and falling asleep cuddled up together.

“And then I went crazy.”

“Stop saying that.” Miles said tiredly. “I hate when you call yourself crazy. Shit, Bass, losing your whole family like that and then taking a hit like that to the head? Of course things are a little off.”

“So, what, medical discharge? I’m all free and clear from the Marines now?” Bass reached up to run his fingers through Miles’s hair. “You obviously are, too, how’d you swing that?”

“Mmm, you know, just…” Miles shrugged. Bass made a face to show no, he didn’t know, and Miles coughed awkwardly and shrugged again.

“Miles, did you—did you go AWOL?” Bass asked, horrified. Miles cringed but didn’t deny it and Bass groaned. “What the hell, Miles?”

“They wouldn’t discharge me, and there was no one to take care of you—I _told_ them I was your primary caregiver, but they wouldn’t take that since they said we weren’t _family_ , and they had you in this shitty military hospital and they weren’t doing _anything_ for you.” Miles pointed a finger right in Bass’s face. “Don’t even pretend you would’ve done anything different.”

Bass blew out a frustrated breath, because of course he would’ve, but he always expected Miles to do things differently. “Doesn’t that, I don’t know, screw with your whole life? You get court martialed?”

“Yeah, I got court martialed.” Miles shrugged. He wasn’t hiding anything in his eyes; he truly didn’t care. Bass’s lips were still pursed and Miles laughed. “Bass, you look like Ms. Everett.” She’d been their third-grade teacher and she’d _always_ looked disapproving. Bass snorted and bumped his head into Miles’s.

“Shut up.” He commanded. “I just feel bad you screwed up your life over me.”

Miles groaned. “You say that _every_ time. I’m not sad about it, Bass. I’d do it again. Five hundred more times.” He grinned. They used to say that to one another, as children, back when five hundred had seemed like the largest number in the world.

“But not five hundred and one.” Bass laughed as he finished their old phrase, but then frowned. “So, what am I, Miles, the chick from _Fifty First Dates_?”

He got a little smile out of Miles for that, but Miles’s eyes looked haunted and sad, a look far too at home on the Miles in Bass’s head. “Not every day is like this.” Miles told him. “Sometimes you remember the real world for weeks at a time. It’s usually like…you forget when something big happened in your dream thing. A big battle. Oh man, a month ago you got _executed_ , but they faked your death and—Bass, I’m not kidding, you took _three days_ to calm down.” He was trying to laugh, but Bass could see how much pain he was in. His mouth was already dry from Miles’s mention of Bass’s execution. No one had bothered informing _Bass_ that the execution had been fake, so he’d really thought he was dying.

“Do you come every day?” Bass asked softly. Miles gave him a look.

“Of course I come every day. Who else would look after your sorry ass?”

"Who's paying for all this?" Bass didn't know much as far as mental hospitals went, but he had an idea this one was expensive.

Miles waved a hand. "We both had money saved up from the Marines, and you get some help from the VA."

"Miles, that can't be enough if I've been here for two years."

"Yeah, I work nights." Miles said with a shrug. "And don't give me that look." He added quickly. "I work security and it's not that bad I _do not regret it_."

“Miles.” Bass searched out Miles’s eyes where he’d settled them on his lap. “I don’t want you putting your life on hold for me. I mean, shit, you come here every day and work at night? When was the last time you got laid?”

Miles gave him a strange look. “Oh.” Recognition came over his face. “Right. You always…sometimes I forget that you don’t remember. I mean, you do, when you think about it, but in your mind it’s been years and years.”

“What?” But even as he said it, Bass remembered—the night Miles had found him in the cemetery had been the night everything had changed for them, the night they’d stopped dancing around everything and had finally hooked up. In the Blackout world, it had all fallen apart so horribly that Bass had forgotten. But even then, they’d lasted over a decade, so it stood to reason they’d still been together when Bass had his accident. He sucked in a sharp breath.

“You don’t have anyone else?”

“I don’t _want_ anyone else.” Miles said harshly. “Don’t do this, Bass; I can see it in your eyes. You’re going to do your martyr thing where you tell me to leave, go out and find someone new, whatever. It’s not happening.”

“But Miles, this isn’t a life!” Bass gestured around the room at the muted colors and the residents in shoes with no laces and a man in the corner who was waiting for an invisible partner to make a move in checkers. “You can’t just sit around waiting. I’ve been here _two years_ , Miles. Doesn’t sound like I’m getting better.”

“You are.” Miles protested. “You’re so much better than you were. You believe me when I tell you what's real, now. You used to just babble on and on about our Republic and you’d think you were living it while you were awake. You used to try to convince me we needed a plan to escape because you thought we’d been taken prisoner by Georgia.”

Bass could feel tears in his eyes again. “I want you to have a _life_ , Miles.”

“I do.” Miles growled. “It’s…” He looked away sheepishly. “It’s with you.” Bass opened his mouth to say something more, but Miles cut him off. “We tried, once.” His voice was low and he wouldn’t meet Bass’s eyes. “I stayed away for a while.”

“Did you try to kill me before you went?” Bass muttered under his breath. He was getting kind of sure that most everything in his Blackout life corresponded to things that happened in his real life. Miles rolled his eyes, not laughing at Bass’s little joke.

“We said some shit to each other.” He admitted darkly. “I think that’s what me trying to kill you in your blackout dream was.”

“Stop feeling guilty.” Bass’s voice was harsher than he’d intended. He hated the way Miles blamed himself for everything. He’d probably think an earthquake was his fault.

“This is pretty much the conversation we were having.” Miles told him, a sad smile on his face. “You were telling me to move on, you know, the usual. And then you told me…” Miles swallowed. “You told me about killing that family, in your dream. The guy who tried to kill me.”

“I guess I’m nuts no matter what world I live in.” Bass cut in softly.

“We kinda…lost it at each other. Not like that’s hard to believe.” Miles smirked a little, but his eyes were guilty and sad. “So I thought it might be better for both of us to, you know, be gone for a while. But it was bad, Bass. It was so bad. For both of us. Damn near drank myself to death. And you…” Miles looked away and licked his lips. “They almost moved you to a secure facility. All the progress you’d been making was just…gone.”

“Did I hurt anyone?” Bass was trembling. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He didn’t want to be a killer. He didn’t want to be General Monroe, ruthless and cold and calculating.

“Oh, yeah, you clocked Duncan a new one.” Miles snickered a little. “Broke her nose.”

“Shit. No wonder she hates me.”

“Hates you?” Miles balked. “Are you kidding? Duncan _loves_ you. She hates _me_. Part of why she hates me is because I left.”

“How long were you gone?”

“Four weeks. I was a wreck.” Miles looked almost sick with the memory. Bass chuckled a little to break up the somber mood.

“Well aren’t we just two pathetic sons of bitches. Can’t last without each other.”

“Guess not.” Miles laughed, too, and Bass needed to banish the haunted look in his eyes. He leaned closer to Miles and grinned mischievously.

“I have my own room, you know.” He murmured, wiggling his eyebrows and trying not to think about how much that sentence reminded him of being in high school. Miles grinned back, but it was tinged with sadness.

“Bass.” He said gently. “That’s against the rules.” Bass scoffed.

“When has that ever stopped us? Remember a little thing called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?”

“Oh, hey, that’s over now.” Miles told him.

“Well, then…” Bass let the sentence hang between them and tried to surreptitiously nibble at Miles’s earlobe. Miles’s breathing sped up a bit.

“Fine.” He blew out a long breath. “Come on.” He hauled Bass up out of his chair and practically dragged him down the hall. Bass relished it. In his memory, it had been years since Miles had shown this kind of interest in him, years since Miles had touched him for any reason but to hurt him. They got to Bass’s room and Bass pushed Miles against the closed door, reacquainting himself with his favorite mouth and letting his hands wander wonderfully.

But all too soon, Bass realized why Miles had looked a little sad at this suggestion and the way Miles was holding back. Bass was willing, but his body wasn’t doing much to show it. He could feel his face heating up. Cliché as it sounded, this had never happened to him. As far as he knew.

“Miles, I don’t, uh…” He bit his lip.

“Hey.” Miles kissed him gently. “It’s alright.”

“Let me guess. This isn’t the first time it’s happened.” Bass knew he sounded bitter and didn’t care.

“It’s the medicine,” Miles told him soothingly. “It just kinda…inhibits things.” Bass dropped his head to press his face against Miles’s shoulder, fighting tears. Miles rubbed circles against his back.

“It’s okay.” Miles whispered. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Bass asked shakily. “It seems like a huge fucking deal to me, Miles. I live in a loony bin and you have to come visit me every day and I can’t even get it up anymore.” Tears burned their way down his face and he swiped at them angrily. “And I made a damn fool of myself trying to get you all riled up and now…”

“Bass. Hey. Look at me.” Miles put a hand under Bass’s chin to tip it up and make their eyes meet. “I don’t come visit you as a booty call, you know.”

“I know, Miles, but…” Bass huffed, frustrated. “I want to—I miss you.” He gestured vaguely. He ducked his head a little, because he and Miles didn’t really talk about whatever the thing was between them.

“I know.” Miles sighed. “I do, too.” He was dropping soft kisses along Bass’s jawline and gentle hands were stroking Bass’s hair. Bass couldn’t help the confused wrinkle of his forehead. He was used to quick and kind of harsh and no emotions.

“Why are you being so…?” Bass didn’t know how to finish the sentence. His mind wanted to say _tender_ but the term made him balk and he could only imagine Miles’s reaction.

“I hate you even have to ask that.” Miles murmured, lips dipping into the spot beneath Bass’s ear. “I was such a dick to you for so long.”

“Well.” Bass tried to make it sound appeasing but Miles _was_ speaking the truth. Miles laughed a little, nosing at Bass’s hair.

“I almost lost you, Bass.” He said quietly. “I thought you were dead. You were just lying in the dirt, not moving, leg all broken, bleeding…I thought you were dead for sure. And then you were in a coma for a week and a half, Bass.”

“So, what, you’re Mr. Feelings now?” Bass sounded harsh and he cringed a little. Miles didn’t even pause in his worship of Bass’s face.

“I made a pact.” He said into Bass’s neck. “I’d be better as long as I got you back.” Bass bit back the retort about _Brokeback Mountain._

“Yeah, well, you didn’t get me back.” He said hollowly.

“You’re breathing.” Miles accentuated the point by stealing the breath from Bass’s mouth. “You’re talking to me.” He kissed the tip of Bass’s nose. “I can see your eyes.” He kissed each eyelid in turn. “And I’d get to kiss you if you’d quit all your worrying and talking.”

“Miles, I just…” Bass shrugged helplessly, and he could hear his own ragged breathing. Miles pulled back to look him in the eye.

“Bass. I don’t care if the only thing I get for the rest of my entire life is my right hand. You and me, we’re more than just sex, you know that. And I sound like a damn teenage girl and I don’t even care. I’ll sit and look at you all day if that’s all I can do.”

“Well, now you’re just getting creepy.” Bass muttered, but he was smiling a little. He pulled Miles back in and kissed him again. “And anyway, it’s not like I’m _useless_.” Bass dropped to his knees, taking Miles’s pants with him along the way, and set to work. He knew Miles had a secret thing about being against the door, and Miles wasn’t exactly being quiet in his appreciation now.

“Shit, Duncan’s gonna come.” Miles groaned.

“Is she the only one who’s gonna come?” Bass teased, looking up for a minute. Miles made a noise that was sort of a wheeze mixed with a gasp and Bass had to stop and laugh before continuing his work. It didn’t take long at all before Miles was spent and his legs were rubbery. Bass glanced hopefully down at his lap, but besides a faint twitch there was no reaction from downstairs. He sighed and stood up, tucking Miles back in and guiding him to lie down on the bed. Miles wrapped his arms around Bass and Bass could feel himself drifting.

“I don’t want to fall asleep.” He said around a yawn.

“Why?” Miles’s voice was slow and slurred.

“I don’t want to forget everything and be crazy again.” Bass inhaled the scent of Miles’s hair, relishing the smell of shampoo because they had _electricity_ and Miles took regular showers and washed his hair. Miles tightened his hold of Bass and pressed a kiss blindly to the back of Bass’s shoulder.

“Well, I’ll be here when you wake up.” Miles promised. “And I’ll tell you everything again.”

“Five hundred times?” Bass asked.

“Even five hundred and one.”


End file.
